


A Softer Touch

by assylem



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, Touch-Starved Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:14:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22983865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/assylem/pseuds/assylem
Summary: The first three times Jaskier touches Geralt, he wonders how often Geralt enjoys being touched.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 12
Kudos: 446





	A Softer Touch

_One_.

The first time Jaskier helps Geralt into his armor, it’s with clumsy fingers that are used to plucking lute and heartstrings, and unfamiliar with leather and metal. He’s never taken much armor off before, let alone put it on, but Geralt makes a comment that he knows is really a request. The Witcher can never seem to ask for help when he wants it.

“If you’re going to follow me, bard, you could make yourself useful,” he says. Jaskier could have made himself feel insulted. It suggested that his singing was _useless_. 

Geralt frowns at one of his bracers in a way that says he’s done this a thousand times and it’s still frustrating. Rather than watch him continue to struggle, Jaskier laces leather string through holes and tugs it snugly against his forearm. When he’s finished, he fixes Geralt’s sleeve underneath it and unconsciously gives his wrist a squeeze. Geralt’s expression shifts and the way he pulls his arm back is subtle, but there.

_Two._

It started raining several hours into their trip for the day, with clouds so thick Jaskier can tell it won’t be breaking any time soon. He has a thicker cloak packed away, but it doesn’t repel water, and it doesn’t help his boots from sinking into the mud. His lute is tucked safely underneath his cloak, and the bulk makes him move more slowly than he does to begin with.

“You’re slowing us down, bard,” Geralt’s voice comes from underneath his hood. Despite his words, he doesn’t sound annoyed. 

“Well- the ground is slowing me down,” he responds over the suction of pulling his boot from a particularly deep spot. “And my cloak’s bloody soaked. It’ll be lucky if any bit of me is dry by the time we get-”

It was fortunate Roach was as even-tempered as she was- or at least that she was used to him. He’d been watching his feet so closely he didn’t realize Geralt stopped until he walked straight into the horse’s rump.

“Get on.” 

Geralt is reaching a hand down towards him. Jaskier takes it with a firm grip that still isn’t half of what Geralt’s is and doesn’t so much climb up onto the back of the horse as allow himself to be lifted there. Once he’s settled, his hands find Geralt’s hips to steady himself, and he swears he can feel his companion tense. It’s not for another twenty minutes that he feels him relax, when his hands have settled into a dry place under a layer of armor and he gets the feeling back in them. 

_Three_.

Jaskier doesn’t normally have trouble sleeping. More often than not, he’s the one to wake to find Geralt up and almost finished packing up camp. Although he’d rather be sleeping in an inn, he can still sleep through the night on a bedroll without stirring.

He doesn’t immediately realize what woke him. The sky is pitch black and the fire has burned down to its embers. The night is quiet, save for a stirring not far from him. Geralt’s bedroll is six feet away, and though he can tell the Witcher is sleeping, he can hear it isn’t restful. As he moves closer, he sees Geralt’s expression twitching; his brow is creased and he looks pained. It isn’t until he mumbles through closed lips and his breath hitches that Jaskier reaches for his shoulder and gives it a squeeze.

Geralt’s reaction is immediate. His eyes fly open and he sits up so quickly, Jaskier’s body jolts in surprise. But Geralt doesn’t leave his bedroll. As quickly as he sits up, he’s shifting back down to his elbows and looking over in Jaskier’s direction. Jaskier can tell he’s trying to keep from waking him, and he can see something flash through his eyes when he realizes he already has. The first thing he thinks of is _shame_.

“Jaskier,” Geralt sighs in a whisper. It sounds like recognition, or maybe even relief, but Jaskier can hear the disappointment behind it, too. 

He reaches out again and squeezes Geralt’s forearm, expecting tension despite trying to elicit the opposite. Instead he feels Geralt relax, and sees it when the Witcher lays down again. Jaskier doesn’t say anything; his other hand comes up to go through Geralt’s hair, but stops at his shoulder where he squeezes again. When Geralt closes his eyes, Jaskier lets go and slips back to his own bedroll.

**Author's Note:**

> Quick little thing that popped into my head and wouldn't shut up until it was written down. Enjoy!


End file.
